Vignettes: Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood
by Celestial Chaos
Summary: Just a collection of seven short, separate fictions that I wrote for a community on livejournal called 7spells. These all revolve around Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood. They contain slash.
1. Getaway

Author's Notes: So when I was fiddling around on livejournal one day, I came across a community called 7spells, which is a fanfiction challenge where you write seven fics about a pairing (romantic or otherwise) using a variety of prompts. Because of my love for Marcus and Oliver, I decided to do this challenge with them, and I thought I would post the stories here, as well. As stated in the summary, the stories are not necessarily related to one another. The prompt that I used for each story is the name of each chapter.

I don't own any of these characters--they're all JK Rowling's fabulous creations. In any case, please let me know what you think of these. :)

* * *

It kind of stunk. Not all that bad, no, but it stunk.

Marcus was the type of person who was able to awaken but not open his eyes. The smell that invaded his nose was, of course, the salty scent of the sea. For a brief moment he didn't know where he was; he recollected his memories just a bit afterward. They were at a resort.

Reaching up he lazily rubbed at his eyes, rolling over onto his back. How he always ended up on his stomach, he didn't know; it was somewhat irritating. He half-expected to bump into Oliver when he moved. It appeared, however, that the other wasn't there.

He opened his eyes, not fighting the yawn that wished to escape him. It took his eyes a moment to focus. That damn odor was still in his nose. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure standing on the balcony of their room. Short, somewhat stocky, semi-long, light brown hair being blown about by the warm island winds.

A small groan escaped Marcus as he pushed the covers back, slipping out of the bed. His large feet padded across the lushly carpeted room and he led himself toward the balcony. He managed to catch Oliver off guard, it would seem, because the smaller one jumped just slightly when the long, pale arms wrapped around his lithe waist.

Marcus nuzzled his lover's hair, trying to ignore the salty smell clinging to the blonde locks. He always reveled in the fact that Oliver fit perfectly into his arms—like they were meant to be together. It just felt right. He didn't know how he had lived without this feeling in the past. Rivalry be damned, really. Oliver going to play for Puddlemere and Marcus going to play for the Falcons had seemingly given them that open space they needed in order to finally admit to both themselves and one another that something was there. Granted, they still had to play against each other every now and then, but that was of little importance. In all truth they didn't quite know how things had worked out the way they did, but neither was about to change it.

"Morning, love," he whispered into Oliver's ear as his fingers tapped leisurely upon the other's stomach.

"Morning, Marcus," Oliver replied cheerfully, sighing contentedly afterward. "Isn't it a beautiful day? I'm going to go swimming later. Do you want to come with me?"

"Mm, works for me."

"Excellent." Before he pulled himself out of Marcus' grasp Oliver gave him a good morning kiss.

As Oliver made his way back into the room Marcus' eyes followed him. A somewhat amused look appeared on his face. The faint bounce in the younger one's step was enough to remind him exactly why he was putting up with that irksome smell bombarding his nose.

Oliver sure did love the sea.


	2. You're The Only One

Author's Notes: Although the story sort of places it in time, I wanted to let everyone know that this short piece takes place during Book 3 time. :D The prompt for this one was "Look over there". I realize, however, I gave it a different name than the prompt. And majority of them, at that rate. So, the chapter name is the title of the story, not the prompt. Oops. XD

* * *

Never before had Oliver felt like such an idiot. They had lost the game. Lost the _game_! How had that _happened_?! Harry was doing fine, despite the rain. Sure, a goal or two more had gotten in than usual, but Oliver had done his best, and it seemed like it was almost going to be enough when paired with the girls' excellent chasing skills. And Harry! Harry was a surefire win…he was made for catching the Snitch.

Well, that was what Oliver used to think. Now all he was thinking about was what in the world would get this miserable feeling out of him. Though deep down he knew it really didn't do him any good to be so worked up over a game, he couldn't quite help himself. After all, he was Oliver Wood. Quidditch was his life, and everyone who was anyone knew that. So, of course, it made sense when he said he was going to drown himself in the showers after having lost.

Thankfully no one followed him to make sure that he didn't do it. Despite the fact that he said such seriously morbid things whenever he lost (this was nothing compared to the fiasco of him having wanted to kill someone after a certain game in his fourth year), it was clearly known that he wouldn't act on them, for as angry as Oliver could get sometimes, he wouldn't ever actually act on those feelings, especially when the threats were self-inflicted.

After all, how could he play Quidditch anymore if he _drowned_? Honestly.

It had taken a lot of effort to actually get himself into the shower and washed off. He was freezing when he came into the locker room and had felt so all the way up until he slipped out of his drenched gear and hopped into one of the shower stalls. Granted, he hadn't really felt the water at first; when his body warmed up, it felt pretty good. He almost hated leaving it, but he needed to get back to the castle and deal with having lost. He didn't feel ready yet. This was a severe blow to him. Yes, he was worried about Harry, but he was mostly selfish this time around. How could they have lost?

Perhaps the worst part about it was dealing with Marcus. That damned arse loved rubbing things in his face whenever he got the chance. Oliver probably wouldn't be seeing him, since he had been in the locker room for well over an hour and everyone had probably gone back to the castle to go about their regular activities for the day. With any luck, Oliver would be able to slip up all those flights of stairs without having to worry about things.

Things had been odd enough between them lately as it was, what with Marcus staring at him all the time during classes and him always ending up choosing the same subject as Oliver in their courses. Granted, they only had two together, but it was getting irritating. They had had to do a pair project twice now over the year, and that was just so incredibly odd. Marcus couldn't keep his big feet to himself, always knocking them into Oliver's, and his clumsy oaf hands continuously bumping into his as well. Honestly, it was a wonder he managed to fly sometimes.

Suddenly he had the random thought as to why he had bothered to shower, since he was going back out in the rain. Oh well. It was too late to worry about that now, wasn't it?

Just as Oliver placed his hand on the door handle to tug it open he felt it being pushed in his direction. Surprised, he jumped back and furrowed his brow. Was it Fred, George? Was it one of the girls? After the door opened and revealed a soaked figure, Oliver quickly realized it wasn't any of them. No, in fact it really was…Marcus.

Why him?

"What're _you_ doing in here?" the Gryffindor asked, sounding perplexed.

Marcus shook his head suddenly and sent water flying in every which direction, some of which splashed the other captain and caused him to sputter slightly. When he looked back up at Oliver he had a ridiculously wide grin on his face. "Saw what happened at the match today."

Oliver's expression quickly turned irritated. "So? Did you come here to gloat, or something?"

"Not quite," the older one said. "I just thought I'd make sure you hadn't actually drowned yourself. Heard from one of those Weasley blokes you were going to when they were walking past."

"And you would care because?" That was strange. Why _did_ he care?

Marcus snorted. "I can't have my best competition dying on me now, can I?"

It wasn't that hard to confuse Oliver outside of that which he understood (which was restricted mostly to Quidditch), that he had to admit. But this was absolutely baffling him. He scratched his head. "Since when was I your best competition?" He hadn't noticed Marcus' moving somewhat closer. "I don't get it."

"Well, you're the only one who gives me any competition these days," he stated simply. "Diggory's a real dolt sometimes, so he doesn't know what's going on half the time…Davies is too busy going out with all sorts of girls. You're the only one who understands, you know?"

Yet one more thing that made no sense to him. Oliver was the only one who understood _what_? Was he talking about Quidditch? Well, he had to be. He had thrown Diggory and Davies in there, so that made it clearer. He hoped he was on the right trail, anyways.

Marcus had yet again moved closer. This time the younger one noticed. Oliver furrowed his brow once more.

"What're you talking about—"

"Look over there," Marcus interrupted him, pointing just over the other's shoulder.

Having made the mistake of looking in the direction the other boy had pointed him in, Oliver felt Marcus move in on him and reach out, gripping his rough, smaller hands. His head swung back towards Marcus with a quizzical look in his eyes. He would have tried to pull away, but something in him was distracting him long enough not to.

"What're you—"

But this time, Oliver didn't even have a chance to fully react before Marcus kissed him.


	3. I Won

Author's Note: The prompt for this little fic was "Did you see what I did?". Basically, it's a first person POV for Oliver, overlooking his relationship with Marcus. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

I still can't believe it happened.

Things weren't really all that different until we had classes together. Before, it was just about Quidditch. You got mad when Gryffindor started winning, because we were 'taking away your glory', to quote you exactly. Then, like the dumb-arse you are, you managed to not complete the required number of N.E.W.T.s to leave Hogwarts, which caused you to stay behind, to plague me for another year.

Of course, I use these words only in retrospect, because what we are now isn't anything like that. Far from it, if anything, really. It just makes things sound better, I think.

Don't think I didn't see the way you used to look at me during class—that disdainful look that normally wouldn't linger too long, until bit by bit, day by day, you arrived to a point where you couldn't seem to keep your eyes off of me. It was disconcerting at first, but I figured it must have been because you were trying to come up with some way to beat me. I noticed over the year that you seem to do that…stare at whatever it is you're trying to figure out, as if it perplexes you. Though in all honesty, I think a lot of things do. I'd always send a brief glance your way, with the occasional furrowing of my brow to show irritation, or one raised to show confusion.

Little did you know I always smiled to myself afterward.

Things were "fine" until you started following me after class. Yeah, I noticed, even if you didn't always follow me all that far. My steps, if you ever caught it, would usually slow down just slightly. I'd feign being pensive and would speak of plays under my breath. And I never quite "understood" why you followed me, until that one moment…that one moment wherein you pushed me against the wall, looked me straight in the eyes for a moment and then just kissed me. I responded like you expected, apparently, since you already had your arms on mine, keeping them against the wall. You just kept kissing me until I gave in and stopped trying to make you quit.

What you didn't know, though? I only fought because I wanted more. You happily obliged, from what I remember. Sometimes playing dumb can be a good thing, can't it?

I'll never really admit to you that I acted the way I did on purpose. My feelings for you have always been really mixed up, so it probably wouldn't make much sense, anyways. At first I admired you. I watched you play Quidditch in my first year, and even if you were just a reserve chaser for the team back then, that one day you got to play was just amazing. You did so well. So well in fact, that I wanted to play against you, wanted to prove that I could beat you…that I could win.

Then things sort of changed. A rivalry grew between us, which became even more confusing when mixed with my feelings of admiration toward you. I think I heard someone say once that there's a fine line between love and hate. Who better to fit that description than us, you know? Well, maybe Potter and Malfoy, but I don't think they're together. That'd just be funny, wouldn't it?

I still think we're the best example. I always will.

Thankfully, I don't think anyone knows about us. We still play the rivalry pretty well. Katie mentioned a few days ago about the bounce in my step, but I told her it was because I was excited that our final match was coming up, and the cup was in our (well, I said my, but you know what I mean) grasp. It seemed to work for her. Little did she know that as I left, I was on my way to meet you in the locker room.

Don't think there's quite anything as enjoyable as feeling your body on mine—that warm breath washing over my neck and ears, sending excited chills up my spine; the way you whisper my name into my ear and tell me that you can't live without me; when you're exploring my body, feeling me, marking me as yours.

I _am_ yours, Marcus, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

But did you see what I did?

I won.


	4. Anniversary

Author's Notes: I'm glad these are being well received! :D It makes me a happy authorpants. Right now I'm going through a bit of a dry period so I'm glad I've already got these up and running. This story is a little depressing, and I'd forgotten that since having last read it. But, I like it. Hope you all do too!

* * *

Oliver looked at the table in front of him. It had taken several bloody hours to get it just right, but damn it, it looked _right_. The soft glow of the candles cast a gentle light over the table, with each piece of china and stainless steel silverware holding a reflection of each little flicker. That had been the hardest part, at least for him. Oliver had never been good at decorating.

They had been together for a year now. It was hard to believe! The step from rivalry to friendship had been more than enough, so it was indeed surprising when their relationship had taken an interesting turn when Marcus asked him out to dinner one night. It had been a three-course meal, including a delicious salad, mouthwatering steak, potatoes and corn, with cheesecake for the dessert. Both of them had so thoroughly enjoyed that Oliver, being the sentimental little bugger he was, made note of it; he was going to remake it for a very special event. What was more special than a first year anniversary dinner?

Everything was done, and now all Oliver had to do was wait. What Marcus didn't know was that he had taken off the day to prepare this, and would be pleasantly (hopefully) surprised when he came in and saw what was before him. If there was one thing Oliver enjoyed doing, it was surprising Marcus. He made it entirely too easy. Then again, that might have been because Marcus just didn't expect things like this out of Oliver. Hell, _Oliver_ didn't even expect these sort of things out of himself. That was half the fun, though, wasn't it?

Tempted though he was to seat himself Oliver remained standing, looking over the food at the table. It had just come out, and he had done his best to time it to when Marcus was going to be home. Oliver didn't think much of it when five minutes passed. Then came ten. Then fifteen. Twenty. A half-hour. An hour…

Oliver glanced at the clock on the wall. Little over two hours had passed, and Marcus still wasn't home. He didn't have a phone, otherwise he would have called him…but why couldn't Marcus have let him know he wasn't going to be home right away? It didn't take but a minute to say "Hey! I'm going to be late. I apologise." He had done it before. There really was no excuse.

On their anniversary, nonetheless.

Letting out a sigh, Oliver leaned over the table and blew out the candles. His stomach was growling at him but he wasn't going to eat. This meal had been made for him _and_ Marcus, and that was exactly how it was going to be eaten, even if it was several hours later. The once good-smelling food was now cold, untouched, and its smell was mediocre at best. Oliver's worry had risen considerably within the first hour, only now he was feeling much more irritated. How dare Marcus not show up? Granted, he hadn't _told_ him he was planning this, but he should have guessed it. Marcus was supposed to know him well.

Three hours had passed by now, and things were beyond ridiculous. Oliver finally had given up on waiting, which seemed to be the key. As he wandered into the living room, intending to head to the bedroom, the front door creaked open and Marcus slowly slipped on in.

"Marcus!" Oliver said suddenly. A baffled mix of emotions bubbled about inside of him. Though he was relieved to see him in one piece, he was also incredibly infuriated that he had missed the dinner, and was feeling his worry pop back for a brief moment.

Somehow he managed to settle on relief. Quickly he approached the other, wrapping his arms around his waist. He didn't fail to notice that Marcus only half-heartedly returned the hug.

"Where the _hell_ were you?" Oliver asked, concerned. He tried to look his lover in the eyes, only to find that those opposite him refused to meet with his.

"Out," Marcus replied vaguely.

"Where?"

"Somewhere. With friends."

The anger inside of Oliver began to grow more prevalent. He furrowed his brow, cheeks turning slightly pink. "Somewhere, with friends? Marcus, you know what tonight is, don't you?"

Marcus only shrugged. "Yeah, I know, Oliver."

Oliver folded his arms over his chest. "Then why weren't you fucking here?"

There was something in the way Marcus was holding himself; the way he shifted side to side; the way he bit his lip; the way he responded quietly, timidly—a completely unnatural way—that made Oliver's heart fall into the pit of his stomach. Their eyes finally met, but only for a brief moment. The smaller one looked down.

"I've met someone…"


	5. Real Man

Author's Notes: So, the prompt for this one was "Artificial Light". I ended up using a lamp as that light, because I'm totally awesome like that. It's just a short, sweet little ficlet; nothing big. Please let me know what you think :)

* * *

Marcus found himself staring down at Oliver yet again. Sometimes he did it when he couldn't sleep, and sometimes he did it just to do it. He never got tired of watching the other man. Five years since they had gotten together, and he still was mesmerized by the younger one in every way imaginable.

The light from his bedside lamp cast a soft yellow glow over both of them and their bed. Because it was spring, the nights weren't nearly as cold as they usually were, but from the looks of it, Oliver's body was still thinking it was winter, as he was curled up comfortably under the covers, soft breaths slipping in and out of him as he slept.

A small grin appeared on Marcus' face. Oliver was adorable when he slept. Part of him wondered if the reverse was true, and that his lover watched him while he slept. He was such a deep sleeper, so it wasn't likely that he would even notice—much like him, Oliver slept very deeply.

Reaching out, the older one brushed his fingers tenderly over Oliver's hair. He slowly tugged them back, though, when the sleeping one shifted and moved lying on his back to lying on his side, facing Marcus. The peaceful look on his face was indescribably cute.

He had no idea when he had become such a puss. Well, that's the word he would have used a few years ago…at least, verbally. Yes, he had been what Oliver had playfully called him, a 'real man'. So what if he cursed, scratched himself, liked walking around naked and didn't take shit from anyone? Oliver always told him that was part of what made him so attractive early on. Though, Oliver had told him the _most_ alluring part about him was that, despite his hard exterior, he was surprisingly loving on the inside, and he felt special that he was the only one who really got to see that.

Marcus just continued to stare at him for a few more moments before Oliver murmured something in his sleep. His fingers were gripping and loosening on the hem of their comforter and, without much thought to it, the older one reached over and took one of the hands in one of his own, lifting it to his mouth and giving it a few light kisses.

When Oliver smiled in his sleep, Marcus chuckled. He shifted onto his back for a second in order to turn off the lamp, whispering as the light went out, "Love you."


	6. Goal

Author's Notes: This is probably not one of my favorites that I wrote, but I like it nonetheless. It just seems like something the two of them would do. Anyway, I really hope you all enjoy it, and I'm thankful for the reviews! Please continue to let me know what you think. :) Oh! By the way. The prompt for this one was "A broken circle".

* * *

Why didn't it look right? The longer Oliver looked at it, the more he found that the way he was setting up the play on his model Quidditch Pitch just wasn't working. It was becoming really tiresome, since he had been there for a good few hours and nothing fruitful had come from his labor.

He was getting hungry._ No food until the play is done_, he thought to himself, ignoring the slight rumbling in his tummy. Oliver was bad like that; he completely ignored mealtime when it came to more important things, such as working on plays or homework. The only time he _didn't_ refuse to eat was before game time. It was a nightmare trying to play and focus on an empty stomach.

Oddly enough, he didn't seem to notice that was the same when it came to everything else.

Bringing a hand up to his face Oliver rubbed his forehead, and then ran his fingers through his hair. Okay, maybe there was something wrong with the way that he was trying to have Alicia, Angelina and Katie move. They worked best when they were together, and the closeness gave them an advantage, especially against Marcus, Adrian and Montague. They played in a stretched-out formation.

"Damn it," he cursed quietly. He closed his eyes. Part of him wanted to take a break, but his stupid determination and stubbornness was keeping him from doing so. And great, now he needed to go to the bathroom.

Oliver popped back into the locker room a few moments later, his bladder empty and memory screaming. He had left a chocolate bar in his locker! That was exactly what he needed—it'd allow him to satiate his stomach and work at the same time. Excellent.

Just as he grabbed the chocolate bar out of his locker Oliver heard the door creaking open. Because the lockers were across from the door, but horizontally so, he couldn't see who it was until he peeked around the corner. Odd. The door was shut, and no one was there. He could have sworn he—

"Holy shit!"

Oliver began to jump. Arms were being wrapped around his waist. Of course, his immediate reaction was to freak, but when he felt himself unable to really move, he knew almost right away who it was.

"You need to not freak me out like that," he murmured, furrowing his brow. "Arse."

"Whatever, you know you like it." Marcus' voice was quiet, deep. He held Oliver to him in an almost possessive manner, brushing his front side against the smaller one's back. "I thought I'd find you in here."

Despite himself, Oliver didn't want to turn around completely. Given the fact that Marcus was just a few inches taller than him, he could lay his head back and rest it easily on the older one's shoulder. It was hard to swallow like this, but it allowed him to see the Slytherin's face when they spoke.

"You should have asked first. I'm working on plays." While he wanted to sound chastising, there was something about the way that Marcus was holding him that told him the idea of asking for anything really was the furthest thought from the other's mind.

Marcus brushed his nose gently over Oliver's cheek and slowly slipped his hand inside his robe, feeling what was beneath. Oliver's stomach tightened instinctively. "Since when do I ask permission for anything, Wood?"

"Since when do you call me Wood when we're alone, _Flint_?" Oliver retorted, a smirk appearing on his face. "If we're going to play that way, you might as well treat me like you really _do _hate me."

"I think you'd like that too much," Marcus replied. His tone lightened slightly, sounding somewhat suggestive. "But if you want me to…"

Oliver snorted. Marcus' hand had unbuttoned his shirt and was now slipping inside, cold fingers brushing over his warm skin. It sent a small chill up his spine. Nothing more was said, for their lips moved closer until they met in a kiss. As he had never actually refuted what Marcus had said, he wondered what was going to happen, exactly.

No time for thinking, though. Marcus was kissing him a bit harder now, a bit more deeply. Oliver reached up and gripped Marcus' wrist, gently tugging the hand out and leading it to another one of the buttons. It didn't take the older one much time before he had unbuttoned all of the buttons on Oliver's shirt, exposing his front.

Slowly, Oliver felt Marcus moving backward, felt him press himself against the lockers, bringing Oliver closer to him in the process. His hand rubbed over the younger one's chest, fingers briefly flicking over one of the hardening nipples. Marcus' index finger dipped into Oliver's navel and then circled it a few times, and he broke the kiss briefly so that he could share several shorter kisses with him. The further down the hand went the slower the older one's pace became, until the hand stopped just short of the waist of Oliver's pants.

"Tease," Oliver said while exhaling. Marcus never did that, so he could only assume that whatever it was he was coming up with in that weird mind of his involved more teasing. Oliver, though, as much as he hated being teased, did also sort of enjoy it. He loved to hate it, more or less. He was strange.

Nothing came by means of response from Marcus, at least verbally. He began to grind his growing arousal against Oliver's backside and nudged the other boy's head to the side in order to get to his neck. His smell was intoxicating, Oliver's, and every time he smelled it Marcus felt like he was falling in love all over again.

Oliver craned his neck to the side to allow for Marcus to nuzzle it. It was Marcus' favorite spot on him by far, that much he knew. There was always one mark or two that managed to get onto him, despite Oliver's incessant attempts to stop it. That was half the fun, though, really…the excitement of the fact that what they were doing was a secret just between the two of them. Every time he thought about it the Gryffindor smiled to himself.

Marcus continued to pay attention to Oliver's neck, brushing his lips over it and giving the tender, warm skin the occasional bite. If Oliver hadn't been enjoying it so badly he likely would have stopped him, kept him from doing what he was doing. Marcus knew just how to distract him, though, because the younger one's attention was clearly on the hand dipping into his pants now, exploring inside and clearly searching for one thing in particular.

"Fuck…"

Oliver writhed some as Marcus' hand came to grip his growing length. He pressed himself into the larger boy's body. That seemed to be exactly what Marcus wanted, though, because as soon as he did Oliver felt the hand slip right back out and come to his shoulder, proceeding to push him away. Not the reaction he had expected at all.

Dazed and confused, Wood looked at Marcus, swallowing hard. "What in the _hell_ was _that_?" he spat out.

That was when he noticed the predatory sort of glint in Marcus' eyes. Oliver cocked his head just slightly, slowly moving to the side. Marcus was going to crash into him like a battering ram from the looks of it, and the last thing Oliver wanted to have happen was his body get thrown against the lockers.

Just as the older one began to move forward the smaller one picked up his pace, heading back behind the second row of lockers, near the Quidditch Pitch model. He was walking backward and regretted it, because he didn't look where he was going, causing him to stumble into the corner of the end of the row of lockers. Marcus took advantage of the situation and jumped at Oliver, letting out a triumphant "Ha!" when he grabbed hold of him.

Unfortunately Marcus' weight was a bit much, and he apparently hadn't thought it all the way through. He managed to grab his target but stumbled further, knocking the both of them into the Quidditch Pitch model. It felt over and a resounding _crash!_ pounded through the locker room.

Both of them were suddenly on the floor, Marcus atop Oliver, the younger one's eyes shut tight. He opened them just a moment after they landed, a clearly surprised, and somewhat pained look upon his face. That melted, though, when he saw Marcus' clumsy sort of half-smile on his face.

"You're mad," Oliver said, sounding somewhat short of breath. He was shocked, yes, but not all that hurt. He had had worst. He laid his head back next to the broken circles of the goal hoops, looking up at the other boy. "Mad."

"Maybe," Marcus replied, leaning down and giving him a kiss, "but I'd rather be mad than without you."


	7. The Fight

Author's Notes: If I'm not mistaken, the prompt for this little ficlet was "So shaken as we are". Whatever the case, it's the last one of the 7, so I hope you all enjoyed it. :) I've got two more to upload (sets of 7 fics, I mean), and the pairings for those are Marcus/Cedric and Viktor/Cedric. Gabrieldarke, you might like those as well! Thank you for your reviews!

* * *

"You're such a jerk sometimes, Flint."

"At least I'm not a stuck-up puss like you, Wood."

"Whatever. I'm smarter than _you'll_ ever be."

"You fucking wish."

"Tell me, then, how's seventh year treating you this time around?"

Marcus stalked towards Oliver and threw him against the locker. Due to the Gryffindor's size in comparison to him, it was rather easy to rough him up and throw him around. Oliver stumbled towards the wall and hit it with an oomph, his face briefly contorting into a pained expression. Before he had a chance to collect himself Marcus was on him, his larger form looming over him.

"Don't you fucking push me around, you troll!" Oliver exclaimed. He pushed at Marcus' chest and succeeded in making him fall back some.

Growling, the darker haired boy once again stalked toward the Keeper, and he reached out, grabbing a handful of his shirt at his collar. "Don't you _ever_ call me that again." He was breathing somewhat harder now, his heartbeat having quickened. He locked his eyes on the smaller one's. They hadn't had a fight in a long time.

Oliver looked up at Marcus. Much like him, his heart was beating faster than usual, and his breathing was a bit erratic. The regular fight-or-flight response, but with Marcus, he never backed down; if he did, that would only make things worse. "Bastard," he spat out quietly.

Having been preparing to punch him, Marcus gripped Oliver's shirt collar a bit harder than before, raising his fist. Instinctively he leaned in just a bit, because he wanted to see the other's reaction better, wanted to catch the exact moment when the pain hit the other boy.

And then he hit him.

The Keeper didn't let out any sound when he was hit, save for a sharp, but quiet exhalation of breath. His head snapped back into place and he looked at Marcus, his eyes narrowing slightly. At first he made no move, but just shortly after he attempted to push Flint off of him again. Marcus, prepared for it, gripped Oliver harder and pushed himself into the younger one to keep him in place. A few moments of struggle followed, resulting in Oliver's finally resigning.

Both boys were breathing hard now, their skin, especially around their faces, warmer due to the quickened blood flow. Their faces were close enough that their noses were bumping against each other, and the few times it had happened, the two of them avoided each other's gaze. Just slightly Marcus released his grip on Oliver's shirt. He found that his nose brushed against the other boy's one more time, and he finally stopped caring, just letting it rest lightly upon the younger one's.

Their eyes finally met.

"Don't," Oliver whispered quietly, swallowing hard afterward. His voice didn't sound very convincing to either of them, especially with the somewhat ragged way he was breathing.

Slowly, Marcus brushed the side of his nose against Oliver's, moving in to kiss him afterward. It was a chaste, tentative sort of kiss, once that was broken briefly, only to be replaced by a somewhat hungrier one. Marcus lightly released the grip on Oliver's shirt, but didn't move himself away from the younger one in the slightest. Wood's hands, which were once against the wall, were now resting on the older one's hips, roughed-up fingers gripping the hem of his pants.

The two shared another rough kiss before Marcus pulled his lips away from Oliver's. He exhaled a sharp breath and attacked the tanner one's jaw line, moving down toward his neck. This elicited a strange mix of a grunt and moan from the Gryffindor, who craned his neck to the slide to allow for better touch. His own hands worked their way from Marcus' hips to his back, clutching the loose fabric of his shirt.

Marcus finally fully released Oliver's shirt and pulled back a bit, but only in order to reach in between them and let his hands explore the smaller one's front. Oliver, much like him, had a very toned body, due to years of Quidditch. Without thinking he slipped his fingers into one of the spaces between the middle buttons and tugged roughly, popping it open.

"Son of a— " Oliver began, only to swallow hard in mid-sentence and stop himself.

Marcus' fingers were warm and felt amazing against his skin. Despite the harsh treatment his neck was receiving, the touch on his chest was surprisingly gentle. The contrastingly callused surface of Marcus' fingertips on his soft skin sent a chill up his spine.

As Flint explored his chest Oliver found his hands moving down the older one's back, until they were back at the hem. But instead of leaving them there, this time they slipped up and underneath. Unlike the other's, Oliver's fingertips were cold, and caused Marcus to twitch just slightly. It didn't deter him from continuing with what he was doing.

"Fuck," Marcus murmured, sounding slightly surprised. Now he was nuzzling Oliver's neck, reveling in the feeling of the soft skin of the Keeper. His fingers brushed up and over his chest, down his flat stomach and around his navel. There, though, the skin felt different. Marcus brushed his fingertip over what felt like a thin, long scar that ran just below Oliver's bellybutton.

"Scraped by a pitchfork," Oliver explained quietly.

He wasn't going to ask. Instead he simply returned his attention to the other's neck, kissing along his jaw line once again until he met with Oliver's earlobe. He bit it, perhaps a bit rougher than he should have, causing the younger one to growl some, but then nuzzled it with his nose.

Without much thought to it, Marcus wrapped his left arm around Wood's waist, bringing their hips together for the first time. Their height difference was mostly in the torso, as Marcus' was longer than Oliver's, giving him an inch or so on the Keeper. Doing this caused both of their stomach's to do flips. Arousal had hit them long ago, and due to not being touched, they now had an awfully hard pair of erections that were extremely sensitive to touch.

Marcus pulled back from Oliver's neck and locked his eyes with the other's. Briefly Wood's arms had tightened around Flint's back, which had only heightened the sensation. Now they were holding each other, hips pressed against each other and their hearts racing. Not saying a word, the darker haired boy grinded his hips against Oliver's. Though he had managed to keep his moan to a low grunt, the younger one's came out much more vocally.

He rather liked that sound.

Marcus grinded their hips together once again, only harder, as he was intent on getting the sound to come out another time. That he managed to do, and he reveled in it. His stomach did another small flip, but he kept himself under control.

"Nnh!"

Oliver pressed his head back against the locker, meeting Marcus' grind with one in return. Whatever nails he had were now beginning to dig into the other boy's pale skin. Though neither was really quite aware that they were mostly just blatantly humping each other, it didn't matter; their grinding became more frequent, harder, their breath only becoming more and more ragged. Somewhere throughout their movements Marcus had leaned forward again, burying his face into the warm, sweet-smelling neck of the younger boy. His back was arched but their hips never left the other boy's.

"M-Mer—!"

It was too late. Oliver had tried to say something but it had seemed to be a waste. His stomach was making strange leaping feelings and a very warm sensation suddenly took him over. He was experiencing his orgasm. Making a few incoherent but highly aroused, higher-pitched moans than before, he dug his nails deeply into Marcus' back. Oliver finally stopped moving a few moments after panting, shaking and clinging to the larger boy.

Moments later, Marcus found himself succumbing to his orgasm as well. Though his lasted somewhat longer than Oliver's he, too, was panting and shaking afterward, holding the other against him, but weakly.


End file.
